


a leap of faith

by onceuponatimeinsaratopia



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Game of Thrones - Freeform, GoT, Miscarriage, Other, Sansa-centric, Torture, lady bolton - Freeform, sansa at winterfell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-10 04:04:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19899547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onceuponatimeinsaratopia/pseuds/onceuponatimeinsaratopia
Summary: During a snowstorm, Sansa Stark, maimed and weak, finds herself torn with a decision while being captive in Winterfell by Ramsay Bolton.





	a leap of faith

— 𝒇rom where she stood, high and hidden in the darkness of the night, she could barely distinguish the white snow she knew covered the stone floors of the front yard at Winterfell. She was aware the flakes were falling, touching her cheeks and caressing them like a wet kiss before resting on whichever piece of flesh they could and iced around her. It was supposed to burn. First, it should make her shiver but then, while it merged with her skin, it was supposed to 𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒏. She didn’t feel a thing.  
She shouldn’t be outside, not at night, not alone. 𝒉𝒆 wouldn’t be pleased if he found her there, dangling on the unstable stone piazza, barefoot and wearing nothing but a night gown, a tortuous vision of fiery red hair splashed on pale skin tainted by purple spots and rosy cuts, covered by light white fabric. A devious mockery of long lost innocence. She looked down at the mantle of snow again. ❆

She wasn’t entirely sure about how she had managed to drag herself outside. Not that anyone would try to stop her, but just a moment ago she felt so sore she might have sworn to be unable to press her feet on the floor for a week. Or maybe that wasn’t a moment ago. Maybe that wasn’t today at all. 𝑺𝒕𝒖𝒑𝒊𝒅 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍, she didn’t even know what day that was. All she knew was that he didn’t come. She had counted the footsteps from inside the chambers, crawled under the blanket at every heavy breath that stood a second too long at her door. He never came. It should come as a relief but she knew better. Every single second he delayed were endless moments of weight on her chest, and added hours for the next visit.  
But that was not the matter that concerned her in that particular evening. It was something he said. Well, he said plenty, each word as sharp and precise as his precious toys, as hard as his hands. But that one had had a whole different effect on her.  
Pale willowy fingers wrapped firmly around the bars of the balcony, allowing the weight of her body to rest forwards, exposing her upper body to the icy wind — 𝒂 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒑. That was all it took. One leap and she would be down there, one with the snow, fire and ice, as 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏 & 𝒃𝒆𝒏𝒕 & 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔 as she already felt. It wasn’t the first time she considered it, nor the first place she had climbed upon a high balcony to test her strength. Fatefully, she had always been a coward. She allowed her body to fall, just a tad, just until her feet left the ground and all that was supporting her was the weak arms that had let her down so many times before.  
𝑳𝒆𝒕 𝒈𝒐.  
She didn’t even had to leap. All she had to do was let go. 

Sansa pressed her bare feet strongly against the cold stone of the floor, taking a couple of unbalanced steps back until she felt the familiar pain of a wall meeting her ribs. Using her legs as support to rest her body for a moment ( even though she feared the way she trembled wouldn’t allow her to stay straight for long ) she took a deep breath, resting both hands upon her lower stomach. She had never consider it, not for real, not except for future life plans while giggling with her friends, planning weddings to polite princes from the south. Ever since she had been marked 𝒖𝒏𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒚 and pushed aside from Joffrey’s side, she had never even once more given it a thought. But it wasn’t impossible. It wasn’t unlikely. Her mother had bore five children. She had already lost count of the sunsets she had been kept captive in Winterfell. Where did her 𝒐𝒅𝒅𝒔 lay? It was almost as if she could feel 𝒊𝒕. Growing. Existing. 𝑯𝒊𝒎 on her. She always felt him but this was different and ever since she started to think about it, she could not stop. 

She caressed her skin above the soft fabric; it was thin enough for her to feel it as if she was nude. Sansa was painfully aware she was a couple pairs of hands on her away from 𝒅𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒂, but she could swear she felt it. It.  
Eyes fell shut, a snort of panic leaving her lips. Maybe an heir was a good idea. Every lord needed an 𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓. Every house needed to prolong the bloodline.  
The thought alone made her sick. Prolong his bloodline. Would that please him? Would that make him 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒑? Even just once in a while, even just as she carried it. Should she tell him? How would he react? Would she get 𝒅𝒖𝒍𝒍 like his other girls if he stopped, if she could not take it? Would she stop being pretty? She was 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒖𝒍 even 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒎𝒆𝒅, they both knew it. Everyone he had invited to watch her knew it. What would make him hap... (–𝒑𝒊𝒆𝒓)

Fogged orbs opened abruptly, her breathing getting heavier, as broken fingernails sunk upon her belly. 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕. That was the worst part of her nightmare. Not the touches or the words, the screams and looks and laughs and indecent proposals, the wounding, the hurting, 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕. Feeling her mind slip away to the 𝒅𝒐𝒍𝒍 he was trying to make of her, finding herself craving nothing else but to 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 him — should she lay still or protest, scream or cry, beg or kneel — just because he treated her as he was her master. 

❛ Stupid. I’m so stupid. ❜

She couldn’t bear his heir. Either it was real or just one more projection of the recurring nightmare she didn’t seem to be able to escape – she could not bear his heir. His house would die with him, even if she had to die as well.  
Removing her sunk nails from her skin hurt twice as much as actually sinking them in did. When her closed fist hit her stomach for the first time, it made her hold her breath. A coward as she was, she wanted to stop right away. Stupid little girl. One more. And another. It was nothing compared to what he did and yet, along with it, whatever it was he had planned on doing when he actually did appear, she knew whatever it was that might be growing inside of her – either it was a baby or a lust of hope – would not be able to 𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒗𝒊𝒗𝒆. 

Her body had already hit the floor when she felt her body being covered in a warmth that contrasted with the snow storm and the ice cold stone. She was way too exhausted to distinguish if it was either tears or blood. Either one would suffice. She just had to keep going. She was a 𝑩𝒐𝒍𝒕𝒐𝒏, after all, consented or not. She was used to a little pain.

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own any of the characters, places or situations.  
> I hope you enjoy!


End file.
